Just a Cigarette
by akirakurosawa
Summary: Spike sits down to smoke a cigarette. Faye watches. Who knew that a death stick could be so, so appealing. One-shot. Rated M for indecent ... thoughts.


**I don't know what it is with me and these one-shots lately, but obviously my brain needs an outlet. I had to rate this one M because... well... read it and you'll see. Leave a review and tell me what you think.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Cowboy Bebop, sadly. I am eternally grateful to those who made it, though.**

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><p>»Hello Faye.«<p>

His voice was not louder, nor quieter than usual. His tone was not high pitched, nor the low rumble. Nothing was different, yet Faye Valentine turned and looked at Spike Spiegel, because something was _off_.

He sat on the couch in the middle of Bebop and pulled out a cigarette.

(Edward once told her that the couch was the most symmetrical thing in the whole ship; it had an even number of stitches, even number of screws and even number of springs. Apparently, Ed and Ein got bored one night and disassembled the whole thing. It was also the most symmetrically placed thing on the ship, given its distance from every corner of Bebop was... well, Faye did not remember the exact number, but it was the same number everywhere.)

Smoke lazily swirled in the air as he pushed the Devil's guilty pleasure from his lungs. The patterns in the mist were unrecognizable, yet Faye felt uneasy for some reason. The whole situation had a strange feel about it, and she fought the shiver that threatened to overcome her.

She decided to sit on the sofa across from Spike. He had already interrupted her, and there would be no more productive work for her for quite some time now that her concentration was broken. She hated interruptions, but she was willing to let this one slide, if only for the man responsible for it and the strange turmoil he brought with himself into her peace and quiet.

Sitting in the chair across from him gave her an excellent view of his Adam's apple, as his head was tilted back over the couch. He did not speak, and neither did she. He just sat there, and smoked his cigarette _oh so slowly_. Faye gasped silently as his throat constricted synchronously with his breathing.

His fingers glided slowly over the length of the couch pillow, caressing them in a slow rhythm that made Faye strangely uncomfortable. She put a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, not taking her eyes of the enthralling movement of his fingers. His other hand was hovering above his mouth, every once in a while taking the nicotine stick from his lips and shaking off the remains of burned tar in an ashtray.

She knew of the satisfaction that a nicotine hit could bring you. It was an addiction they both shared, and it was a feeble point in otherwise unyielding characters. Many a time she would find herself on the roof of Bebop in the early hours before dawn, enjoying the dizziness caused by the first smoke of the day. She would close her eyes and it almost felt like flying; then she would feel him behind her, and the powerful smell of tobacco would intensify, and her vertiginous head would keep on spinning as if there was nothing in this world that could stop it.

They would not speak, they just smoked their cigarettes, and the smoke from their mouths mixed in the air between them, and the shadows danced as the sun rose, and suddenly Faye would feel him going away, and the reality of the day before her would stop being so unbearable.

Spike sat up straight when his cigarette almost burned his fingers so he put it out in the plain, black ashtray. His messy hair covered his eyes, and he shook his head once to remove the barrier between them, and their eyes met.

Something must have happened, because in that moment it was as if someone sucked the air out of the room. Ambiance changed to something urgent and perilous, but Faye felt vulnerably above all. This was not them, not how they functioned. She never told him anything intimate and he never shared anything personal with her. That was the deal. _This..._ Faye did not know what it was, and she was not sure if she would be able to handle it.

They were just looking at each other. It was not the 'staring competition' kind of look, where you aren't allowed to blink. Spike blinked, and then she blinked, but it was like there was something... Did he want to tell her something? Or was it her that wanted to tell something to him? Faye didn't know; she may have forgotten, and she may have never known in the first place.

His fingers never stopped circling on the soft, worn-out fabric. He glided them one by one over the surface, all the while capturing her gaze in his ravenous pupils. Faye never felt as much under scrutiny as in the moment his eyes started to glide slowly down the length of her, and for some reason she realized that she was feeling self-conscious.

All the feelings stopped as his eyes moved lower and his pupils dilated and flickered back to capture her gaze. Those dark crimson eyes sang to her beautifully, and she was unwilling to stop listening to the mermaid's song. So she let him violate her, and her skin ached for more and her heart started thumping.

What did she want him to do? Touch?

Caress?

_Bruise?_

Faye's fingers started physically itching; she needed to touch something. He must have felt it, because he stopped the ministrations of his fingers, and without breaking their eye-contact, he reached for the cigarette box and pulled out a white and yellow stick.

Faye's eyes widened as his tongue slipped between his full lips, teasing her. Seemingly satisfied with the slight hitch of her breath, he then proceeded to lick the paper from one end of the cigarette to the other, all the while keeping his russet eyes firmly bound to her malachite ones.

Her breathing was uneven, her chest moving erratically, tiny beads of sweat on her skin. He knew what he was doing to her, he must have known, because he kept the cigarette in between his fingers, but before he could light it, the look on his face morphed into amused one.

Faye started shaking slightly.

Spike licked his lips.

The perfect facade Faye kept up was becoming more and more dented by every spark of desire coming from his ferocious eyes. She was shaking, watching him slowly put the cigarette in his mouth and suck it tenderly.

Her lips were partially open, her cheeks rosy with electrifying and unstable yearning that shook the core of her body and tore at her insides, clawing its way out, leaving a screaming trail of burns beneath her heated skin. She leaned forward, gathering strength to stand up and go to him, beg him to use her, to consume her and discard her, but to please her for Heaven's sake, not to let her ignite and burn out.

"Duty calls, 3 o'clock tea!"

The yell came out of nowhere, and startled Faye so much, she jumped back a bit. Spike seemed unperturbed, although he did point his eyes toward the thirteen-year-old redhead that came jumping into the room. his brows creased ever so slightly, and if you did not pay attention (_and she did, oh yes, she did_), you would have missed it.

"Tea!" Edward screamed, carrying a pot in her right hand and three cups in her left. "Tea for Faye and tea for Spike and tea for Ed... but not for Ein, no, no, no, no, Ein may burn inside and ignite and then all shall go to hell." Ed said, as he sat down next to Spike on the couch, and started pouring tea.

And that was exactly how Faye felt as she excused herself to go pour a bucket of ice cold water over herself before she burst into flames. She cursed at Ed, cursed at Spike, and then decided that maybe, just maybe, it was time to quit smoking.


End file.
